


The Wasps

by PoorQueequeg



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorQueequeg/pseuds/PoorQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploration of Helen before she went to Oxford. Tag to 'The Moth's Wing'- Helen's relationship with her maid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When her mother died, her father had retreated into his study for days. It was not seemly for a gentleman to cry but Helen had heard his sobs, seen him bury his face in his hands through the banisters from her spot on the stairs. She had crouched silent in the darkness, shivering in her nightdress, the hard wood on the step digging into her bony thighs where she sat. At the funeral his face had been an impassive mask and she could not forget the coldness of his glazed eyes as he stared into the distance.

“There now, child,” a kindly voice had whispered. “Screw up your courage.” Helen had clenched her jaw against the tears and squeezed the warm, wrinkled hand of Mrs Roe, the housekeeper, as the casket was lowered into the ground, an icy wind chilling her to the bone. It was a long time before Helen felt warm again.

After the funeral, her aunt had insisted that Gregory come home and he had assented “for the good of the child.” Their cases were packed and loaded onto the train at Waterloo for the long journey west. She would always remember that interminable journey, the noise and smoke of the crowded platform, Mrs Roe furtively slipping barley sugars into her palm while her father stared moronically out of the window. Helen was restless, her insides churning endlessly in a swell of suppressed emotion and she had roamed the compartments as the adults dozed, slipping from first class to wander the length of the train.

Helen was asleep when they arrived in Exeter and had a vague memory of being bundled from the train into the carriage, her strongest recollection the scent of shaving soap on her father's neck as he carried her. When she woke, it was to the kindly face of Mrs Roe and the lopsided motion of the carriage as it lurched forward along the highway at dawn.

Her grandfather's house at Holbiton was a welcome sight indeed and the old man limped out of the door to embrace Mrs Roe warmly as they stepped out of the carriage.

“And you must be my little Helen,” the old man had said in a warm tone, stooping low and leaning heavily on his cane to meet her eye. “My you've grown since last I laid eyes on you.” Helen gave a him a tentative smile as he ruffled her hair with a wink. “Inside with you now, come along.” Mrs Roe had taken her hand, leading her inside the house and as they stopped inside the door Helen peered back to watch the stiff greeting between father and son while the old woman unbuttoned her coat.

 

Helen had first met Mrs Venner in the kitchen, trailing wide eyed behind Mrs Roe, still clutching her hand as though she were afraid to let go. Mrs Venner smiled broadly as they entered, straightening up from the stove and setting her wooden spoon down loudly on the side.

“Oh mother,” the cook had exclaimed joyfully in an accented voice as they embraced. The sound reminded her of her own mother and Helen couldn't help but soften when the young woman stooped down stiffly to clutch her by the shoulders tenderly, the round swell of her pregnant stomach just visible through her skirts. “And who might this be then?” Mrs Venner had chuffed warmly, smiling broadly at the young girl.

“This is our Helen,” Mrs Roe had explained.

“Well aren't you a pretty one?” Mrs Venner had beamed. “Oh but your hands are chilled. How about something hot to warm you through before you sleep now child?” Helen's lips curled up in a ghost of a smile.

Since her mother's death weeks before, everything had seemed so utterly drab and tasteless to Helen but that meal would be forever fixed in her memory as the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. She sat on the wooden bench beside Mrs Roe while Mrs Venner had served them thick, crunchy toast with an inch of butter topped with ham and poached egg, the orange yolk oozing across the plate. Mrs Venner sat opposite with a beatific smile, feeding soldiers to a little boy perched on her knee and making amiable chat with her mother. Helen peered through the window at the vegetable garden beyond, the sea just visible in the distance and felt a sense of comfort that had been sorely lacking in the chilly corridors of the London house.

 

Winter turned to spring and the land came to life. The hedgerows bloomed with primroses and the garden was filled with the bright colours of bean stalks, the cherry tree covered in a mass of bright pink blossoms. Mrs Venner's baby came in April, a little girl with big green eyes. Helen had stood timidly at the foot of the bed as Mrs Venner held the tiny bundle in her arms.

“Do you want to come and say hello Helen?” she'd asked in a soft voice and Helen stared at her with wide, excited eyes. “This is our little Elsie, there you go now.” She was shaking as Mrs Roe helped her take the baby, equal parts terrified and amazed. She'd never held a baby before.

Helen came to love that house in the country, the clean sea air, the wide open spaces, the gurgling toddler in the corner of the kitchen. Happily she trailed down the lane to the village with Mrs Venner on the way to market and not so happily on the way to church but even that was not so much of a chore as it had been in London. After enduring an hour of fire and brimstone she would run irreverently around the churchyard with her cousins, panting wildly as they pressed against the wide trunk of the Yew tree to hide from the scolding pastor.

Her father went back to London with Mrs Roe but every few weeks he would come back to visit, remarking on how well she looked.

“It seems to agree with you, being here,” he'd told her softly.

“Yes Papa,” she'd replied timidly as they sat in the garden drinking tea from the good porcelain. Helen had become accustomed to the thick, simple china Mrs Venner used and felt awkward as she shakily lifted the fine cup to her lips. Gregory smiled gently at her and chuckled at her wide eyed expression of glee when Mrs Venner had come bearing a plate of scones and an enormous dish of clotted cream.

Later Helen had listened outside the door as the men discussed her future, her ear pressed against the varnished wood as their deep tones murmured on the other side. It was decided that Helen would go back to London with her father. It made her heart swell in her chest when he confessed that he missed her but as she lay in bed that night, despair clutched at her heart. She did not care to leave the warmth of this house and the family to go back to the grim, smoky streets of London, the memory of the lonely rooms still clear in her mind. As much as she longed for paternal tenderness, she loathed the stiff formality of it all, the fine china, the tightly laced starched dresses. She never wanted to leave Mrs Venner's kitchen, the rough wooden table, the plates piled high with food, the kindly smile, the screaming children.

“Now then Helen, what do you say? Will you come back with me to London this week?” her father had asked cheerfully. Helen had forced a smile but her displeasure was evident to all. “And how would it be, if Mr and Mrs Venner came to work in our big old house there?” Her eyes went wide.

“And Michael and Elsie?” she chirped hopefully and the grown ups laughed warmly.

“Yes my love,” Mrs Venner told her excitedly. “Imagine, you and I shall be London ladies!”

Somehow, the thought of the London house did not leave her so cold now.

 

 

Gregory had many times wondered if he'd ever feel anything again but as he stepped into the hall late one evening and the sound of children's laughter drifted towards him down the hall he could not help the smile that spread across his face. He made his way to the scullery, a great din filling his ears as he pushed open the door. Helen sat in a tin bathtub, her back to the door screaming blue murder as a harried looking Mrs Venner attempted to untangle the mass of blonde curls that spilled across her shoulder. A young Elsie sat perched on a stool by the fire giggling uncontrollably as her brother Michael strutted about nude, a beard of soap bubbles clinging to his chin, his towel draped like a cape about his shoulders.

“For heaven's sake child, keep still!” Mrs Venner cried.

“But it hurts, OW! Noo!” Helen protested, squirming under the comb in the housekeeper's hand.

“Time and again I've told you about climbing through that hedgerow!” Mrs Venner chided with an irritated huff. “The mess of your hair! Oh, Dr Magnus sir,” she exclaimed, turning to see Gregory's smiling visage in the door.

“Father!” Helen cried standing upright so suddenly that a huge wave of soapy water splashed across the stone floor.

“Oh, Helen, child!” Mrs Venner uttered, plastering a towel over the girl's naked form.

“Hello my darling girl,” Gregory smiled benevolently stepping forward as Helen began to prattle on about her adventures in the garden. He sat on the stool beside Elsie who grinned at him innocently as Helen stepped closer, her teeth chattering as she spoke, water pooling around her bare feet.

 

“I fear you are raising a hellion, Dr Magnus.”

Gregory smiled stiffly at the dour, prim matron sat rigidly on the chair before him. “Helen is...a spirited child,” he explained only to be met with a raised brow from the governess.

“It does her no good to be consorting as she does with the help. A young lady such as Miss Magnus requires the company of a more refined class of people,” the woman replied in clipped, Scottish tones.

“Mrs Venner has been like a mother to Helen since my wife died,” Gregory responded tiredly, his shoulders slouching as she continued.

“Be that as it may, Dr Magnus, I am gravely concerned. Helen is now twelve years old and her table manners leave much to be desired. She talks with her mouth full, puts her elbows on the table and her use of the glottal stop belies her standing. Why I sometimes think I might be speaking with a street urchin instead of the daughter of an eminent surgeon such as yourself. And this habit of leaving her bed at night and creeping into the servant's rooms, it simply cannot go on. No, I am afraid there is much to be done and I cannot stress enough the need for correct discipline and structure in this household.”

Gregory sighed. “As you wish Mrs Menzies.”

 

“It is pronounced Ming-iss!” the matron had barked at Helen upon their first meeting. Elsie called her Mrs Meanness behind her back and Helen laughed so hard her jaw ached. She was an absolute dragon and the children all loathed her, most of all Helen who was now required to eat her meals in the dining room instead of in the kitchen with Mrs Venner and the others. Mrs Meanness would rap her over the knuckles with a spoon for slouching, for eating too quickly, too noisily, for leaving the fat on her meat, for elbows on the table.

They would spend all day in the study or the drawing room, reciting Latin verbs and arithmetic tables and Helen would gaze longingly out of the window as the other children returned from the church school in the afternoon, running and kicking stones down the street. On Mondays Elsie stayed home from school to help her mother with the laundry. On those days, Mrs Menzies took the afternoon off to run errands in town and Helen and Elsie would play a game in the yard, touching each other's faces through the bedsheets where they hung out to dry on the line.

The only positive outcome, in Helen's opinion, of Mrs Menzies reign of terror was her insistence on music lessons. She had convinced Dr Magnus to employ for two afternoons a week the esteemed Mr Cohen, a Russian Jew recently arrived from St Petersburg to instruct Helen in piano and violin. Helen adored Mr Cohen, with his wonderful accent and his wistful stories of the motherland. He was a cheerful, happy soul and Helen loved those afternoons. At the end of their sessions he would play for her, great impassioned pieces that made her heart fill up. Mrs Menzies was equally moved although she was less inclined to express it than her headstrong charge. Nonetheless, everyone could tell when the old battleaxe was feeling weepy as she would permit Mrs Venner, Michael and Elsie to sit at the back of the room as he played.

Helen continued to sneak out of her room at night, climbing the back stairs to the servant's quarters and reading ghost stories to Michael and Elsie by candlelight, their cold toes pressed together under the blankets. She adored them and they adored her, much to the chagrin of Mrs Menzies. The woman was to be applauded for her efforts, for as the years passed and despite Helen's fierce resistance, she began to grow into the kind of young woman that Gregory had hoped; intelligent, polite and well read although still too willful and wild for the dour old Scot. As the girl matured into a woman, she grew weary of their constant battle and retired to Lanarkshire to live with her reverend brother. There was no love lost between her and the young woman she left behind.

“You'll come to no good Miss Magnus, of that I am certain,” the old crone had whispered bitterly into her ear as they said their goodbyes. Helen was unmoved and silently watched her retreating form trail down the path towards the carriage at the gates.

 

At eighteen Helen had made her debut into polite society. They had hosted a soiree at the house and several eligible young men were invited to make the acquaintance of the statuesque blonde Helen had become. She sat stiffly during the entire event and Gregory shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he had forced chatter with the gathered matriarchs in his salon. It was evident to him that young Helen had no interest whatsoever in marriage although she was intrigued enough by the opposite sex. No one in the house could not forget the scolding Mr Venner had given his lovestruck son when the pair had been discovered kissing in the parlour on Christmas day.

Helen would often inveigle her way into his study of an evening when he had the company of gentlemen colleagues and she would gaze enraptured at them as they spoke. Gregory discovered to his equal horror and delight as time passed, that she was rather more interested in their brains than any romantic notions one might usually associate with a young woman. She began to express an interest in science and was often to be found with her nose in one of his anatomy books. She would harangue him endlessly with questions about his work at the Royal Free Hospital, pestering him ceaselessly to allow her to accompany him there. Mrs Venner had warned him about her wiles but he was nonetheless rendered utterly powerless by them and consented to his wilful child's demands.

To Helen it was like another world and the more time she spent in the company of surgeons the less time she spent at home. She barely noticed the little girl who had idolised her, too enchanted by the world of knowledge and science she had uncovered and to everyone's deep concern and Gregory's secret pride, the most thrilling discovery of all.

Women surgeons.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs Venner straightened the tablecloth and slowly stood upright, her back cracking loudly as she moved. Elsie inspected her appearance in the mirror above the fireplace, nervously tucking strands of dark hair behind her ear before deciding it was prettier the way it was before and brushing them back across her cheeks.

“Get on with you now Elsie, that silverware won't polish itself!” her mother uttered sharply. Elsie scowled and dropped her eyes back to the table, picking up a spoon and rubbing it briskly against her apron. “Dr Magnus will be back soon from the station with Miss Helen, you don't want her to think we've let the house go to the dogs without her now do you?”

“No mother,” she replied absently, her heart thrumming wildly in anticipation, dropping the spoon loudly onto the walnut table before reaching for another. Mrs Venner ambled stiffly out of the room and returned a few minutes later, a tray of crockery rattling loudly in her wrinkled hands.

The clatter of horseshoes on cobbled stone sounded through the open window and Elsie turned her head abruptly towards it. “They're here mother! They're here!” she exclaimed excitedly and her mother embraced her joyfully. The pair hurried to the door where Michael stood, nervously adjusting his tie. Mrs Venner paused and tucked Else's hair behind her ears, her daughter sighing in displeasure for a moment until Michael opened the door and together they stepped out into the afternoon sun.

Outside her father climbed down from his seat at the front of the coach and adjusted his hat on his head before moving forward to open the door. Dr Magnus exited the carriage and turned back to help his companion out and Elsie's breath hitched in anticipation. From the step she could see the stack of cases and boxes tied to the top of the carriage, chewing her lip in the hope that there might be perhaps something for her inside one of them. The thought was forgotten at the flash of blonde hair in the doorway of the carriage and Elsie felt her heart in mouth as Helen stepped out. She was so elegant and beautiful, her audience stood awestruck as she approached. Mrs Venner sniffed and dabbed at the corner of her eye with her shawl.

“Hello Mrs Venner,” Helen said with a gentle smile.

“Oh my child,” she rasped tearfully and embraced her tightly. Helen squeezed her back fondly.

“Miss Helen,” Michael said gravely, kissing her gloved hand melodramatically. Helen chuckled loudly and punched him on the arm. He blushed furiously and grinned like an idiot.

“Elsie,” Helen said softly, the tenderest of smiles spreading across her face as she turned towards the young woman before her. Elsie heaved a breath and gaped at her mutely for a moment before Helen pulled her close.

“I kept all your letters, every one,” Else babbled into her ear as they embraced and Helen's smile grew even wider.

Gregory ushered them all inside and Mrs Venner dragged an almost catatonic Elsie down the hall as Michael helped his father with Helen's luggage. Elsie cursed loudly at the kettle as it stubbornly refused to boil while her mother delicately arranged tiny sandwiches on a fine plate with her stiff, aged fingers.

“Give them China tea if you're so impatient my love,” her mother scolded as Elsie angrily jabbed at the coals under the stove. She exhaled a long, calming breath as she tipped the leaves into the teapot and poured the water in with shaking hands.

A short while later and she stood anxiously beside the tea trolley, twisting her apron in her hands as her mother poured two cups for the Doctor and his daughter. Helen took it from her graciously and the old woman smiled before shuffling back to stand beside her daughter.

“Come now, what's all this,” Helen asked meekly as she took in the sight before her, the servants standing so primly in their impeccable starched clothes.

“Well mam, it's only proper, seeing as you're such a fine lady now,” Mrs Venner began to explain but Helen tutted and reached out her hand.

“Oh balderdash and piffle!” she exclaimed, pulling the old woman down on the couch beside her. “Aren't we all like family?” The old woman gushed and clutched at Helen's hand, her face screwing up. Gregory chuckled mildly and before long they were all seated around sharing tea as Helen began to regale them with tales of her travels. Elsie's thigh pressed close against her as she spoke, the young woman gazing at her profile transfixed. She sipped at her tea and swallowed back a grimace. Elsie loathed this strange, scented muck, preferring a stouter, black tea with milk and sugar but as she watched Helen in all her elegance and refinement, she resolved to develop a taste for it.

 

Before Helen had gone away, she'd promised to write to Elsie every day. Her letters had in fact been much less frequent, sometimes there would be months between them but when they came Elsie clutched them against her breast and hurried away to read them in private. Over and over she would read them till the pages went brown at the edges and the ink began to fade. She kept them safely in a shoe box under her bed, the bed they'd often shared as girls.

Elsie lay there now, staring up at the ceiling, tears pricking at her eyes. Since her return Helen had talked incessantly about a Miss Walburga, a woman surgeon of whom she had made the acquaintance in Vienna and Helen was now in her company in the drawing room downstairs. The loathesome woman had arrived and Helen had spent the entire time fawning over her. Elsie's heart sank as the pair of them chattered away in a strange mix of English and German, casually bandying about French and Italian phrases. Elsie had never felt more plain and frumpy than she had in the drawing room this evening.

“Never mind my love,” her mother had comforted as Elsie had aggressively stacked the dishes in the scullery. “However much we might love her, she's a different sort to you and I but she'll always be your friend.”

“She don't want friends like me now that she's a lady,” Elsie groused. “Talking all posh like that, who does she think she is?” Mrs Venner sighed loudly. “You'd think the sun shone out of that woman's arse the way she's being going on about her. The hag.”

“Why don't you go and get changed love?” her mother asked gently, placing her hand atop her daughter's, stilling her movements. “I'll see to Miss Helen and her friend.” Elsie chewed on her lower lip and nodded tearfully before turning out of the room.

 

Helen was so cold and different these days she mused, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she unpinned her hair. She combed it through slowly with the elegant ivory handled brush Helen had brought her from Paris, holding it her hand and staring at it for a long moment. Her gaze flicked across the dressing table before her, over the chipped comb, the mother of pearl pin box. They were really quite lovely, given to her out of kindness but cast-offs just the same. As she stared at them now, she felt a welling up of hate for them and everything they represented.

Elsie's face screwed up and hurled the brush angrily across the room. It clunked satisfyingly into the door but it still wasn't enough to stem the tide of rage that surged within her. Viciously she brushed her arm across the dressing table, sending the comb and the pin box crashing to the floor. She kicked at them and the pin box spun across the floorboards and smacked into the iron bedstead, the lid toppling off and smashing into pieces.

“Oh no!” she sobbed and ran across, dropping to her knees and picking up the pieces, clumsy fingers trying to wedge them back together ineffectually. They slipped between her hands, clattering loudly to the floor and Elsie buried her face in her hands and wept and wept.

 

“Are you sore with me Elsie?” Helen asked a few days later. Elsie didn't reply, merely continued to brush Helen's long hair aggressively, staring at the back of her head with her jaw clenched. Helen winced under her indelicate ministrations. “Elsie!”

“Keep still, will you! How am I supposed to get these tangles out if you keep moving?” Elsie snapped. Helen turned abruptly and grabbed at her wrist.

“If you'd stop going at me like you were rubbing down a horse!” she retorted angrily. Elsie smacked the brush down onto the dressing table and flounced across the room towards the wardrobe, yanking it open and rifling through the contents angrily. “What is the matter with you?”

“Mother says it will be fresh out so you'd better wear the the woollen underthings,” Elsie told the back of the wardrobe. Helen's shoulder slumped and she turned on her stool to watch as the maid rummaged through her clothes.

“You know the wool makes me itch,” Helen said flatly, rubbing her palms up and down her thighs,

“Well you'll just have to suffer it won't you or catch your death, it makes no difference to me,” Elsie snapped, pulling a long skirt out and turning to lay it across the bed.

“Elsie what's wrong?” Helen asked gently.

“Why ever should there be anything wrong Miss?” she replied primly, stepping across the room and opening a drawer to pull out a petticoat and slamming it shut.

“ELSIE!” Helen snapped. The girl froze and met her mistress' wide blue stare. Helen sighed and slowly rose from her seat, her velvet dressing gown trailing along the carpet behind her as she stepped closer. “Elsie please, tell me what's wrong?” Helen held her gently by the shoulders. Elsie screwed her face up, fighting back the tears that sprang up. “Oh my dear, whatever is it?” Helen pulled her close and Elsie buried her face in her neck as she sobbed.

“You don't care for me anymore Miss,” she sniffed. “You don't even see me half the time. Sometimes I feel like you look right through me, like I wasn't even there!”

“Oh now,” Helen cried, holding her tight. “Elsie, please, stop these tears.” Elsie pulled back and sniffed deeply, exhaling a shuddering breath.

“I'm sorry Miss,” she said, wiping her eyes on her hand.

“What happened to Helen?” Helen asked gently and Elsie shook her head. “Elsie really!”

“Mother says it's not proper, that we should you call you Miss now, since your such a fine lady.” Helen winced and twisted her head away.

“That's nonsense. Aren't I just the same Helen as I always was?” she exclaimed.

“Quite honestly no Miss, you aint!”

“Elsie!” Helen gaped at her.

“Since you come back, you're never here. It's worse than it was before you went away. You're always out, at the hospital or talking with some society type!”

“Oh Elsie,” Helen said in a pleading tone.

“No, don't you take that tone wi' me!” she cried, shoving her away. “You promised me you'd write to me every day. I lived for those letters, stuck 'ere scrubbing old men's underpants and darning bloody socks in the kitchen wi' Ma. You 'ave everyfin and I'm happy for you, really I am, I just wish you'd pay me some heed once in a while. You said we was like sisters!”

Helen felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She staggered back and sank heavily onto the stool behind her, shaking her head.

“Oh Elsie I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never thought....I...” she stammered. Elsie sniffed and rubbed her eyes on her apron. Helen stared at her dumbstruck for a long minute until the tension became so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. Elsie stared at the floor, the utter impropriety of her outburst gradually sinking in. She turned away shamefaced and took a few shaky breaths.

“Elsie,” Helen said softly as the young woman began to straighten the clothes out on the bed, sucking her lip in nervously. “Elsie,” Helen repeated but when the maid did not respond she walked briskly over and clasped her by the shoulders. “ELSIE!” she said firmly. The young woman raised her head slowly and met her soft gaze. “I'm so sorry. Let me make it up to you? I'll cancel my engagements today and we'll....I don't know....we'll do something, we'll go somewhere.”

Elsie softened a little in her embrace and her lips curled up in a smile. “Where would we go?”

“I don't know, anywhere. The east end. We'll go out, eat some eels or something, watch a burlesque.”

Elsie laughed heartily and Helen beamed as she gazed into the young woman's brilliant green eyes.

“Alright,” she whispered softly, another helpless victim of the Magnus charm.

 

Although Helen had made the effort to dress down, it was impossible for Elsie not to feel utterly shabby as they sat side by side on the train. The finest clothes she possessed were Helen's cast-offs, lovingly altered by her mother in the parlour so they'd fit her skinny frame. Helen was tall and voluptuous, possessing an hour glass figure for all she did to hide it behind demure, scholarly outfits. At this moment however Elsie could think of nothing else but Helen's brilliant smile and sparkling eyes as they talked.

They ambled arm in arm along the bustling embankment, the brisk wind up the river making the air seem less smoggy than usual. They stopped and bought hot candied peanuts from a vendor on the waterfront and then spent the next half hour flicking them onto the muddy bank below, confessing to one another that they smelled far more appealing than they really were and that neither particularly cared for them anyway. As they wandered east through the city, dark rain clouds rolled in and the pair sought shelter in a fairly respectable looking teashop, bundling into the corner side by side. They argued somewhat heatedly when the time came to pay, Elsie bristling at Helen's casual attitude. The playful banter turned sour and they walked in a tense silence through the rain until they reached the station.

“I feel like I'm not really a person,” Elsie confessed in a voice so sad that Helen's heart sank. “When you buy me things, or when you give me your old dresses.” The rain sleeted into the pavement as the stood just inside the terminus and Helen watched the water gather into the gutter and stream away down the drain. “I know you're only trying to be kind but I...I feel like....Oh I don't know how I feel.”

Helen smiled wanly and gripped the young woman's damp shoulder tenderly, gazing intently at her face. “I only want to take care of you all.” Elsie nodded, staring into the middle distance beyond Helen's arm.

“Pa says I should get married, have my own home. But I don't really want that. What kind of home could I have? Work in the blacking factory or some other hole, pay rent on some grotty tenament and have a babe every year.”

“That will never be your future, Elsie. I'd never allow it. If you wanted to get married, we'd see you right, Father and I.” Elsie stared into her earnest face and smiled.

“Though you know,” she sniffed, a droplet of water running down her nose “If there was ever a time for you to throw your money about now's it.” Helen grinned back, puzzled. “Let's get a cab.” Helen chuckled and they linked arms, making their way out into the rain.

They pressed close together in back of the carriage, damp and chilly. Elsie rested her head on Helen's shoulder and sighed contentedly as they raced through the dusk towards the house. Inside, Mrs Venner made a huge fuss at their bedraggled state, ordering them sharply upstairs to strip out of their wet things. Helen dragged Elsie to her room on the premise that she had a bigger bath, intent on sharing as they had been wont to do since childhood and Elsie did not complain when Helen wrapped her in her own, warm gown. Mrs Venner struggled up the stairs with hot water and tutted and sighed as she gathered up their damp clothes and left them unpinning each other's hair in Helen's private bathroom.

They sat with their knees pressed together in the steaming water and Elsie let her eyes fall shut as Helen gently massaged her scalp. Her limbs squeaked against the enamel as she shifted to pour water from a jug over Elsie's head and when she opened her eyes she was greeted by the sight of Helen's round breast. Elsie felt that unusual feeling she had often felt around Helen, this time intensified a hundredfold. Helen smiled down at her as she poured, the soapy water slaking across Elsie's face and forcing her to blink and look away.

Later they sat on Helen's bed, brushing out each other's hair. Helen traced her fingertips across Elsie's face, listing off the muscles as she went.

“Orbicularis Oris, Anguli Oris,” she intoned as she moved across Elsie's lips. “Sternohyoid, Sternocleiomastoid.” Helen smiled broadly at Elsie's giggle as her fingers tickled her neck. “Trapezius, Deltoid, Brachii, Pronator....”

“You are clever,” Elsie sighed, leaning close. Helen's eyes crinkled at the corners as she continued downward across her forearm to the palm of her hand.

“I'm going to be doctor, Elsie. You'll see. They all tell me I'm crazy but I know better. There are women doctors, just as good as the men, some better I'd say.” Elsie smiled indulgently, her expression morphing from amused to concerned at the look on Helen's face.

“What is it?” she asked gently. Helen met her eyes.

“What you said earlier, about not feeling like a real person. I do understand you know.” Elsie nodded and Helen continued. “They won't accept me into University, not to study medicine anyway.”

“Because you're a lady.” Helen pursed her lips and shrugged.

“I want to be a real person, Elsie. Like you said. That's why I'm doing this. If I was a surgeon..” she inhaled deeply and leant closer. “I could take care of you, of everyone. I wouldn't have to get married and be beholden to anyone else. You understand me don't you Elsie?”

Elsie gripped her hand tightly. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In those days, burlesque was just a variety show or an 'opera' (though not in the high art sense). It was not a strip show and it wouldn't be unrealistic for people like Elsie and Helen to go to see such a performance.


	3. Chapter 3

Helen began to wonder over the weeks that followed how she could have ever allowed herself to forget the sweet girl that she had played with as a child. Although not such a girl any longer, she though to herself, sipping tea and peering across the writing desk in her Father's study. Elsie was frantically rubbing a cloth against the window frame and the resulting squeak was quite distracting. Helen sighed and sat back in the chair but soon found herself smiling as she studied the young woman's serious face, oblivious to Helen's observation as she insistently rubbed and rubbed. She really had grown up to be quite pretty, Helen mused taking in the green eyes and rosebud lips.

After a moment Elsie turned and caught her staring.

“What?” she asked with a bashful smile. Helen shook her head and looked away. “Am I disturbing you?”

“A little,” Helen confessed and Elsie chewed her lip, swallowing and looking about her.

“Sorry,” she murmured but she made no move to leave. Helen quirked a brow and Elsie coughed, fiddling with the cloth in her hand.

“I thought you were going out this afternoon,” Helen stated and Elsie hitched a shoulder.

“I didn't feel up to it,” she replied and Helen pursed her lips, nodding slowly.

“But you felt up to scouring my father's study for every speck of dust?” Elsie gave her an exasperated look and shrugged a shoulder.

“I didn't want to go, alright,” she admitted, stuffing the cloth in her apron and turning to straighten some books on a shelf.

“I thought you liked the Atkins boy?” Helen quizzed softly and Elsie pouted, staring at the spines of the books as though they were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. “Elsie?” Helen coaxed.

“Well I don't, not really,” Elsie exclaimed. “He's boring and...”

“And?” Elsie dropped her hands to her side and raised her eyes to the ceiling, a pained expression on her face. She took several deep breaths before she spoke again.

“He tries to kiss me,” she uttered rapidly. “And....and....it's disgusting!” Helen smiled broadly, suppressing a chuckle by biting her lip. “Well I'm glad you find it amusing! You don't have to endure his horrid breath and his enormous frog mouth!” Helen pressed against the back of the chair, gasping for breath as she laughed.

“Oh Elsie,” she sobbed. “You're wonderful!” Elsie smiled crookedly and looked at the floor, glancing up through her lashes as Helen clapped her palms together.

“I wish I was a little less wonderful, then maybe he wouldn't try to kiss me so often.” Helen smiled at her and pushed the chair back from the desk. Elsie smiled and watched as she slowly made her way around the desk towards her.

“You're so sweet Elsie,” Helen said softly and the young woman felt a blush rise up on her cheeks. “Of course he wants to kiss you.”

“Well I wish he wouldn't, it's awful.” Helen's eyes crinkled at the corners and Elsie gulped nervously, that strange feeling creeping through her body again making her tongue feel too big for her mouth and her arms like they were made of lead.

“Perhaps you're not doing it right,” Helen mocked and Elsie pulled a face.

“And I suppose you know all about it, my wise Doctor Magnus?” Elsie retorted and Helen chuckled.

“Perhaps. I have had a few kisses in my life I'll have you know.” Elsie stared into her impossibly blue eyes and swallowed, her mouth inexplicably dry.

“I don't believe you,” she murmured. Helen's nose twitched. The room was silent but her breath seemed impossibly loud.

“Fine. Then I won't share my secrets with you,” Helen responded in an indifferent tone but her tongue swiped across her lower lip and Elsie stared at it, transfixed.

“Alright then,” she whispered. “Prove it.” Helen chuffed out a little breath and chewed her lip, leaning imperceptibly closer. Elsie blinked and exhaled a ragged breath and then Helen craned her neck to plant the softest of kisses on her lips.

Elsie's eyes slipped shut, her heart hammered in her chest. When she opened her eyes Helen was looking at her strangely but she was still standing very very close. Elsie screwed all her courage up and reached forward and kissed her again and this time Helen didn't pull away. Instead she pressed closer, her hands coming up to clutch gently at the young woman's arms.

“See, I told you,” Helen said breathily a minute later and Elsie stood, eyes closed and swaying slightly, Helen's hands still clutching her arms.

“Show me again,” she whispered and the would be doctor all too willingly obliged.

 

 

“Are we having the Queen for tea, my love?” Mrs Venner asked her daughter, propping her chin on her shoulder from behind as Elsie stared through the window, absently running a dishcloth in circles across the same plate over and over.

“Hmm?” Elsie replied somewhat dreamily, turning to meet her mother's tender gaze.

“I think that dish is clean,” the old woman chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” Elsie said with a broad smile, placing it on the sideboard and wiping her hands on her apron.

“Everything alright? You've been very quiet lately,” Mrs Venner said, adjusting her shawl and shuffling across the room to sit by the fire.

“Oh, I'm fine mother,” Elsie told her reassuringly, pressing her lips together tightly and turning to face her with a smile. Mrs Venner adjusted a sheet over her lap and sucked on the end of a string of cotton.

“That's good,” she chuffed, threading her needle and squinting. “Oh my eyes are too old,” she groused playfully. Elsie placed her hands on her lower back and rocked on the balls of her feet.

“I shall just go and see if Miss Helen will be needing anything,” she said casually after a minute.

“Oh girl, leave her be! You're in her pockets as it is and she's busy with her guests,” her mother replied, peering at her over the hem of the sheet as she began to sew.

“I'm only wanting to be a help to her,” Elsie explained hurriedly.

“If you want to be a help, then sit yourself down,” her mother responded, shifting the sewing basket towards her daughter with her foot. Elsie sighed and pulled up a chair close by the fire, huffing out a breath as she flicked through the basket in search of a needle.

 

Later, she hovered outside the study anxiously listening to the raised voices inside. She stepped back in surprise as the door opened abruptly and Helen rushed passed, her face screwed up with emotion.

“Helen!” Elsie cried at her retreating back.

“Elsie, would you be so kind as to escort our guests to the door.” She turned to meet the old Doctor's grave face and nodded mutely as two gentlemen stepped into the hall.

“Of course, Sir,” she chirped politely, staring up at the landing as she descended the dim staircase with the departing guests.

When she had bolted the lock behind them, she hurried back upstairs to knock softly on Helen's door. She knocked again more firmly when there was no answer and after a long pause, the door cracked open to reveal a single wet, blue eye.

“Oh what's wrong?” Elsie said in a soft, worried voice. “Do let me in.” Helen sniffed and nodded, stepping back to open the door. “Whatever is the matter?”

Helen embraced her and pressed her cheek to Elsie's, shaking her head but sniffed again despite herself and Elsie pulled back to cup her face in her hands.

“They won't accept me,” Helen told her bitterly. “They won't accept me to Oxford, even though I matriculated highest in the district.”

“Ma-what?” Elsie asked perplexed and Helen sniffed deeply, pulling away to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

“The entrance exam,” she huffed moving to sit heavily on the edge of the bed and crossing one leg over the other to tug angrily at the laces of her boot. “Oh for pity's sake!” she snapped, angrily shoving the mass of her skirt out of the way. Elsie chewed her lip and watched silently for a moment before stepping close beside the bed.

“Let me help you,” she said softly and Helen exhaled defeatedly, leaning back on her arms as Elsie tugged her boots off.

“It's not fair, Elsie” Helen complained and Elsie regarded her with sad eyes. It was not unusual for Elsie to help her get ready for bed and the young woman listened sympathetically while she undressed. Helen returned her soft smiles tenderly.

“Thank you,” she murmured as Elsie pulled her nightdress down over her head. “Stay here tonight won't you?” Elsie grinned.

“I haven't any of my own things,” she replied and Helen chuckled at her coyness.

“You can wear something of mine,” Helen said with a glint in her eye that was impossible to resist. Elsie stood compliant as Helen unbuttoned her dress and tugged the sleeves down her arms and wrapped her in a long, cotton slip.

“Oh these sheets are freezing,” the girl uttered, wincing as she slid into the wide bed. Helen smiled and shifted close.

“Hold me tight, we'll keep each other warm,” Helen told her. Elsie smiled and happily complied. It was something they had done a thousand times before. Elsie tucked her head against Helen's shoulder, wrapping her arms about her waist as Helen pulled the blankets over them.

“I'm sorry about your exam,” Elsie told her and Helen sighed sadly, staring at the wood panelling above the bed.

“Me too,” she replied meekly and Elsie shifted to peer up at her profile.

“I don't like to see you unhappy,” she said, gently squeezing Helen's hip. Helen turned and looked into the young woman's earnest green eyes deeply. Elsie stared back, her gaze dropping to Helen's mouth.

“Your kisses make me happy Elsie,” Helen confessed in a husky voice and Elsie felt that familiar feeling rush through her body to throb hotly between her legs.

“I want to kiss you all over,” she gasped and Helen twisted in the bed beside her. Elsie pushed up onto her elbows and leaned across to press her lips to Helen's in a hard, desperate kiss. Helen sighed and held her head in her hands and Elsie moaned softly as Helen's wet tongue snaked into her mouth. She kissed her back for all she was worth and pressed close against her. Helen spread her knees and cradled Elsie's narrow waist between her thighs. “I want to touch you all over, I want to look at you Helen!” she cried, pushing up on her hands. Helen reached up and buried her fingers in Elsie's dark hair, biting her lip and nodding, a pained expression on her face.

“Yes, I want you to, Elsie, I do!” Elsie reached down and kissed her again hungrily and Helen ran her hands down her sides, pulling her closer. Elsie's feet rubbed against the sheets, the long nightdress tangling about her feet and she whimpered in irritation. She pushed up on her hands and shifted back on the bed and Helen craned her neck, lifting her head off the pillow to chase her lips.

“I can't move!” she gasped, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face as she looked down at Helen's body, the swell of her breast obscured by the lace frill.

“Take it off,” Helen breathed, nuzzling the side of her face with her nose and Elsie turned back to meet her eyes, her mouth open and her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Elsie sat back on her knees, the bedsheet bunching around her waist and squirmed, raising her arms as Helen pulled the white fabric up. Elsie's long dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and she threw the offending nightdress to the floor as Helen ran her eyes over the pale form before her. Elsie's skin was as pale as the bedsheet, her green eyes sparkled in the weak light from the fire place and she shivered under Helen's appraising stare.

“You're beautiful,” Helen uttered, her palms closing around the almond shaped orbs of Elsie's breasts. Elsie chewed her lip for a second and cupped Helen's jaw in her hand, reaching down to kiss her again. Helen tipped her head back and Elsie fiddled with the ribbon on the back of her head, releasing her long blonde locks and combing her fingers through them reverently.

“Now you,” she whispered, hooking her fingers under the straps of Helen's nightdress and flicking them down, running a fingertip along the exposed collarbone beneath. Helen shrugged and twisted, the material slipping down her shoulders and a slow smile spread across Elsie's face. “Oh Helen, you're so lovely” she gasped and pushed her back against the pillows. Helen shoved the nightgown down over her hips, their bare legs sliding against one another as she kicked the fabric away. Elsie swallowed her moan, her wet tongue sliding into Helen's mouth again. Helen ran her fingertips along Elsie's side and across her back to clutch at her backside and they both groaned.

Elsie pulled back, gasping for breath. “I can't explain it, miss, I don't know why. I feel... I just want to hold you close and touch you all over,” she cried. Helen screwed her face up and raised her hips to rub her against Elsie's thigh where it pressed between her legs.

“Yes, touch me, please,” she sobbed needily and Elsie dropped her face into her shoulder, pressing wet open mouth kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. Helen scraped her fingernails across Elsie's scalp and cried out as her mouth moved lower to her breast, arching her back towards Elsie's face as her lips brushed against her nipple. She moaned deeply, a long low rumble in her throat as Elsie's warm wet mouth closed around the puckered nub. She shivered uncontrollably as Elsie pulled away and the cold night air hit her damp skin.

“Oh my, I like that,” Elsie murmured, pressing the flat of her tongue along the underside of Helen's breast and sucking the nipple between her lips again.

“Oh yes, oh yes,” Helen chanted as Elsie cupped both her breasts in her palms and pressed them together, burying her face between them and nuzzling frantically. Helen jerked wildly and Elsie ground against her hip bone, turning her attention to her other breast as her fingertips trailed down Helen's quivering side. She scraped her nails gently over her hip and down her leg, clutching at Helen's buttock and squeezing. Helen twitched beneath her, the action sending a hot lancing feeling through her body to throb in that place between her legs and she turned her face into the pillow to muffle her cry. Elsie turned her head to watch the path of her fingers across Helen's trembling thigh and stared at the shadowy nest of curls between her legs. She glanced up at Helen's face as she tentatively brushed her hand over her pubic hair and stroked down her other leg. Helen twisted her head around and met her gaze. “Please Elsie,” she whispered in a pathetic tone. “Please touch me there.”

Elsie swallowed and moved her hand back across in a whisper of a touch and Helen's hips jerked into her hand. “I don't know how,” she confessed and Helen clutched her wrist and pressed her hand firmly between her legs, squeezing her thighs together and grinding against her furiously.

“You feel that,” she rasped as Elsie's fingers slipped between the folds of her sex and found her impossibly warm and wet. Elsie shuddered and panted hard, the v of her fingers scraping against Helen's throbbing clit as she began to stroke up and down. She had never felt anything like she did right now, never seen anything quite like Helen was before her now, sobbing and crying like she was in agony. She did know one thing, one thing all women knew and she smiled triumphantly as Helen reared off the bed again when her thumb began to circle around and around. Helen panted furiously, one hand buried in Elsie's hair, the other gripping the bedsheet in a fist as she spread her legs wider.

Elsie pressed her mouth to Helen's breast again and twisted her wrist around, running the tip of her middle digit up and down across Helen's hot skin firmly until it gave way and her finger slipped deeply into somewhere very warm and soft. Helen's eyes flew open and her mouth gaped. “Oh, oh yes,” she whispered, her hips bucking up against Elsie's hand. Elsie flexed her finger and Helen sobbed again as she pressed deeper, pulling back and pressing in once more. Helen pumped her hips up and down and Elsie watched, enraptured by her response.

Helen met her eyes and Elsie gave her a lazy look that she would come to recognise as lustful but as she lay there now, her only thought was that she never stop looking at her that way. Elsie dropped her gaze to watch a her finger disappeared into the shadowy recesses between Helen's thighs, her tongue swiping over her lips.

“I want to kiss you there, Helen,” she uttered, leaning her palm on the mattress beside Helen's bed and twisting over her to place a kiss on her lips. Helen stared up through slitted eyes, sucking her lip into her mouth and nodding furiously as she caressed Elsie's cheek with the back of her fingers. Elsie leant down to place a kiss on her lips again before trailing softly back down her body. She scratched her nails down Helen's thighs as she neared her goal.

Helen trembled beneath her, clutching the bedsheet in a death grip and digging her toes into the mattress as Elsie's hot breath blew across her centre. Tentatively, the dark head moved closer and pressed an open mouth kiss against her aching flesh. Helen sucked in a loud lungful of breath at the contact and then let out a long, shuddering moan at the first touch of Elsie's tongue against her clit. Her hand flew up to clutch at the pillow as Elsie kissed her, her nails scratching against the fabric loudly in her ear before she folded it over her face and groaned loudly into the down stuffing.

Elsie grew bolder at Helen's response, swirling her tongue around and sucking Helen's clit into her mouth before pressing a finger over Helen's slippery folds, delving into the impossibly soft and warm space inside. Helen's muscles twitched and spasmed, clenching around he finger tightly and Elsie felt a gush of wetness between her own legs, a hot buzzing throb that grew stronger and stronger as Helen bucked her hips and shoved the pillow to the side, gasping as she clutched at the bedstead. Her back arched off the mattress and Elsie caught a glimpse the expression on her face in the dim light, the damp curls sticking to her face as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back heavily against the pillows beneath her, her chest heaving.

It seemed appropriate to stop, Helen having fallen silent and Elsie kissed her way slowly up her shivering body.

“Are you cold?” she asked softly, laying across Helen's chest and stroking the hair out of her eyes. Helen blinked a few times, her eyes bleary and she looked up at Elsie's face, shaking her head.

“No my darling,” she murmured, craning her neck to plant a kiss on Elsie's lips. Elsie kissed her gently for a little while until Helen shifted beneath her. She rolled to the side and stroked her hand down Helen's arm lovingly, propping her elbow and resting her head on her hand.

“What was it like?” she asked quietly and Helen turned to her with a huff of amusement. Elsie smiled broadly back.

“I'll show you,” Helen said in a wicked tone, rolling over and pinning Elsie to the bed with her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Helen jerked awake at the blast of the whistle, the sound of doors slamming vibrating loudly through the train. She blinked and raised her head sleepily to look out of the window, swaying in her seat as the train began to chug forward on the rails again. Elsie shifted and twisted her head against her neck, her breath warm and damp against Helen's skin.

“Taunton, love, we'll be next” Mrs Venner told her softly and Helen turned to her with a small smile.

They were travelling west again, as they had done so often before and Helen admitted she was looking forward to the country. She had not visited the house in Holbiton since before her tour of the continent and things were very different then. In truth, she had come to escape the city and the incessant quarrelling with her father. He seemed to be becoming more obsessive about his work, disappearing for days even weeks at a time with no word, holding secretive meetings with strangers in the small hours. The whole house was aware of the strange rooms downstairs but even Mr Venner was forbidden from entering and whenever Helen questioned her father about it, he dismissed her and changed the subject. She grew weary of his apparent disinterest and lack of support for her studies and when Mrs Venner had expressed a desire to visit her relatives, “a folly of old age” she had called it, the opportunity for an escape was too powerful to resist.

Old Mr Venner snorted loudly and sat upright suddenly, staring ahead wide eyed like a somnambulist until he came back to himself and settled against the seat. “Are we there yet Mrs Venner?” he asked gruffly and Helen smiled at their persistent formality, even after all these years.

The coach journey to the house was as long and uncomfortable as ever and Helen and Michael spent a good part of it discussing the planned extension of the railway southward towards Plymouth while Elsie rolled her eyes at them and stared out of the window at the dawn. The carriage pulled up in front of her grandfather's house, although the old man was long since dead and they were met instead by Helen's ageing aunt. There were some times that Elsie did not envy Helen's upbringing and this was one of them. She happily trailed up the stairs behind the old folk and collapsed on her creaky bed in the attic while Helen endured stilted conversation and horrid, dishwater tea in the parlour. She was roused some time later by Helen's tired smile looming above her. “Let me help you get changed,” Else murmured sleepily, pushing up on her arms but Helen stilled her with a hand to the shoulder.

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Helen whispered, planting a soft kiss on her lips before slipping away.

 

 

“I got another one!” Michael's voice drifted across the beach and Helen raised her head to see him waving a razor clam at her, his feet in two inches of water and his trousers rolled up about his calves. She watched him stuff it into his net bag and crouch down to drop salt into another burrow in the wet sand.

“Is that why we say happy as a sandboy?” Elsie asked, pushing up on her elbows to watch him.

“I'm sick of clams,” Helen admitted lying back against the rock and staring at the the sky. Elsie smiled.

“However could you get sick of clams? They're wonderful,” she replied, rolling over to poke at an anemone with a twig, it's long tendrils curling up to form a hard red knot against the side of the shallow pool in the rock. “Oh look, there's a little fish in here!”

Helen peered down as Elsie gingerly lifted a piece of seaweed with her twig to reveal a tiny, silver creature cowering underneath.

“Come on girls, we've got a right good feast 'ere” Michael told them, climbing barefoot up the rock towards them.

“Oh joy of joys, clams again,” Helen drawled and Michael shrugged, his face in shadow from the bright sun behind.

“Could tek 'em up old man Roe's and see if 'e'll swap 'em for some scrumpy if yer like?”

“Honestly, Mick are you trying to sound like a farmer?” Elsie teased and he flicked his soggy bag of clams at her.

“Hush up you!” he retorted and Helen laughed, sliding down the rock and picking her boots up out of the sand.

 

Michael powered up the hill ahead of them but Elsie really didn't mind. She kept stopping to pick greengages out of the hedge, slipping her hand into Helen's as Michael disappeared over the brow. Helen squeezed her fingers and flicked a bright pink bud of Valerian that stuck out of the old stone wall up the lane.

“Oh my that is a sight,” Elsie sighed as they turned the corner. The crumbling old wall was covered in bundles of pink and purple and white, bright stalks of Valerian sprouting out of every possible crevice. Dozens of butterflies flitted about the flowers and the two women stood for a long moment watching in silence. “Oh ain't they dainty?” Elsie cooed stepping nearer. “Not so pretty up close though are they? They've got that horrible tongue, eurgh!”

Helen laughed. “Even pretty things have their ugly side,” she replied. “I think they're fascinating. Did you know that sometimes wasps will bury their larvae inside a butterfly's chrysalis while it's changing and the creature that comes out it like some grisly monster from a horror story, part butterfly part wasp?”

“Oh that's horrible, why did you have to tell me that?” Elsie chided and Helen chuckled.

“Sorry, I can't help it. It's just how I see things.”

“Well I don't need to know, I can just appreciate it how God intended it.”

“You think God intended for wasps to bury their larvae into caterpillars and eat them from the inside out?” Helen mocked. “Not any sort of God I want anything to do with.”

“Helen! How could you say such a thing?” Elsie turned to her with a look of shock.

“What? That I don't believe in God?” She shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don't, I'm not certain of anything as lofty as that.”

“Oh you make my head ache when you get like this,” Elsie teased and Helen's smiled broadened as she wrapped her arms about Elsie's waist and kissed the devil out of her under the Valerian buds.

 

When they reached the house sometime later, Mrs Venner was standing at the gate, leaning heavily on the iron railing and breathing hard. There was a bicycle propped against the wall and a little way behind her stood a young man in a Post Office uniform, anxiously smoothing his hair down.

“There's a telegram come for you, Miss Helen,” Mrs Venner told her sharply and she turned to glare at Elsie sourly before turning away down the garden path. “Come on with you now girl,” she snapped and Helen and Elsie exchanged a look before she followed her mother into the house, passing Michael as he wandered down to join Helen in curiosity at their visitor.

“Whatever is the matter, mother?” Elsie asked as they walked through the back door into the kitchen.

“The matter?” Mrs Venner said, her face screwing up. Elsie stepped forward to clutch at her arm and Mrs Venner brushed it away abruptly.

“Oh for my shame, Lord whatever did I do wrong? All my sins come back to haunt me now that I should have to endure this!” she exclaimed, sinking backward onto a chair and twisting her dress in her hand.

“Mother?”

“We seen yer child, you wicked thing, in the lane! Oh my lord, with the man from the Post Office and we seen yer kissing!”

Elsie's eyes grew wide and her mouth went dry. Her heart thumped sickeningly in her chest and she turned to stare through the open door at where Helen stood by the gate.

“We didn't mean no harm by it mother, it were just a kiss!” Elsie babbled anxiously and her mother shook her head furiously from side to side.

“Disgusting it is! And all this time and I should have known it! Cuddling up like you do, you base, vile pair!”

“No mother,” Elsie sobbed stepping closer and taking her mother by the arms. “It's not like that!”

“Oh get away from me you, wicked creature. I'll not have it!”

Michael came clattering through the door, wide eyes and brimming with excitement.

“It's from the college! They want to meet with her!” he beamed, pressing his palms against the door frame and grinning like an idiot. “Have we a pen? She wants to send a reply back straight away!” Mrs Venner wouldn't meet his eyes and Elsie sat frozen, clutching her mother's arms and staring at her face in despair. “Oh, I'll get it myself!” he uttered and barged past them brusquely to dig around in the dresser against the wall.

“Did you hear? Did Micky tell you?” Helen said breathlessly from the door and Elsie sucked on her lip and turned see her glowing face.

“That's wonderful news, miss,” she said, her eyes watering.

“Whatever's wrong?” Helen asked in a concerned tone, putting her arm on Elsie's shoulder. Elsie sniffed and shook her head.

“I'm just happy for you,” she lied and Helen heaved an excited breath and grinned before Michael hustled her back outside.

 

 

Helen was eager to return to London after the telegram but even in her excitement could not miss the black mood that had overcome the household. Mrs Venner had not accompanied them to the station.

“She's well enough, just old,” Michael had told her as they said they're farewells on the busy concourse beside the carriage. “Never you mind about that now, anyway. You've got bigger fish to fry!” Helen squeezed his arm fondly and smiled as he dramatically waved his hat from the platform as the trained pulled away. Elsie remained worryingly mute for the journey, staying stiff in Helen's arms as she tried to embrace her.

“I'm sorry, I just....I don't feel well,” Elsie had explained mournfully and Helen swallowed back the twisting anxiety in her gut.

 

 

The return to London was less joyous than Helen had hoped and the feeling the house grew cold and tense as she quarrelled again with her father, irked by his disinterest in her upcoming meeting at the College. There were more strange visitors and the old doctor continued to hide away in the dark rooms under the house. Elsie strained to hear the raised voices from his study as she furrowed in a cabinet down the hall. That was the night that Gregory took Helen downstairs for the first time.

“Are you sure you're quite well?” she asked as she slipped Helen's dressing gown around her arms and Helen stared absently into the distance. “Helen?” she asked again with a gentle squeeze to her shoulders.

“Hmm, I'm sorry, I'm.....very tired,” Helen told her and Elsie sucked on her lower lip and nodded, staring at the dark circles under Helen's eyes.

“Shall I stay?” Elsie said in a meek tone as Helen rose from her seat at the dressing table.

“If you like,” Helen replied but her tone was indifferent and Elsie could not have felt chillier under the sheets with her than if she had been alone in her own bed.

 

 

“I'm not coming,” Helen had stated flatly a few days later, rifling through a box of letters on her father's desk as Elsie stood in the doorway in her Sunday best.

“You never come no more, people are talking,” Elsie told her anxiously.

“People always talk and I don't care for their chatter,” Helen said snappishly. “I've other more pressing things to do today than sit for an hour in a freezing pew hearing about all the ways I'm damned!”

Elsie's face screwed up. “Oh don't, I hate it when you get like this!” she sobbed. Helen let out a slow sigh and let her shoulders slouch.

“I'm sorry,” she replied softly, putting the lid on the box and walking slowly to the door with a letter clutched in her hand. Helen smiled at her softly and squeezed her gently by the shoulders. “You go, say a little prayer for me,” she said with a gleam in her eye and pecked Elsie lightly on the cheek before walking out of the room. Elsie sat frozen in the back of the church that day, staring beyond the rampaging minister at the mournful expression on the wooden face nailed to the cross on the wall behind.

The next morning the postman arrived with a letter in her brother's terrible scrawl. Elsie smiled and turned it over in her fingers as she walked down the hall to the kitchen, gleefully tearing open the envelope as she waited for the water to boil. She sank down in a chair beside the range as she read it and was still there hours later when Helen finally found her, staring at the wall with a blank look.

“Whatever are you doing? Why are there no lights on?” Helen asked in an irritated tone as she stepped into the chilly room. “The fire's gone out, Elsie! Elsie? What's wrong?” Elsie blinked and started in her seat, turning to meet Helen's concerned gaze and taking a loud, sobbing breath.

“Oh she's dead!” she cried. “She died! Oh mother!” Helen's mouth gaped and tears pricked at her eyes, falling to her knees as Elsie buried her face in her shoulder and wept and wept. Helen pressed her nose into her hair and ran her hands up and down Elsie's back as she held her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

 

Michael returned to London without his father and embraced his sister tenderly at the servant's entrance at the side of the house. Helen stood sadly in the hallway behind and Michael met her sad stare softly. If he noticed the chilly atmosphere in the house he did not remark on it, stoically carrying out his duties, the epitome of silent strength. When Helen received the letter from Somerville College he smiled at her warmly and squeezed her arm.

“That's it miss, you're on your way now!” he told her and Helen's eyes crinkled at the corners as she clutched the letter tightly to her chest. Elsie, however, was less enthusiastic.

“Settle now,” Michael told her as she slammed a pan angrily into the back of the cupboard in the kitchen.

“Don't tell me to settle, I'm not a child!” she bellowed and Michael ran his hands over his head in despair. “After everything and now she's just up and going, to god knows where!”

“It's only Oxford, it's just a stone's throw on a train, she'll be to and fro' and you know it. The whole world wants to be in London and Miss Helen's no different!” Michael attempted to soothe her. “I don't know why you're in such a dither about it anyway, we always knew she'd be off one day.”

“Oh I knew, stupid bloody fool I am too!”

“Elsie!” he cried exasperated stepping closer but she barged away, hoisting the laundry basket on her hip and storming out into the yard, the door clatteringly loudly shut behind her.

 

Helen found her there later, aggressively pinning linens to the line.

“From the look of that sky I'd say we were having rain,” she said, brushing the sleeve of a gentleman's undershirt out of her eyes as it fluttered in the breeze.

“I'll thank you not to instruct me on my work as I don't you and yours,” Elsie told her bitterly, stabbing a peg onto the cord in front of her.

“Why are you being this way? I thought you'd be happy for me?” Helen asked in a pleading voice.

“Happy? What do you care for my happiness? I had to hear it second hand, you didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself you was going away!” Elsie said angrily, spinning on her heels to face her.

“You know I care!” Helen exclaimed.

“I don't know anything!” Elsie cried. “I'm just the help! You don't care for me, you don't care for anyone or anything except your precious work! You're cold as ice!” Helen gaped and took a step back, shocked.

“How can you say such a thing?” she said in a choked voice.

“Oh leave me be! Just leave me alone!” Elsie said, flinging her cloth bag of pegs into the laundry basket.

“Elsie!” Helen sobbed, reaching forward to clutch her arm.

“No, don't touch me! Go on to your precious College and leave me be, I don't want to speak to you ever again!” She stormed away and Helen stood amid the billowing clothes, shivering in the chilly wind.

 

Helen went away to Oxford a month later, her father accompanying her on the train. She smiled at him, a genuine smile of hope and excitement for the future but as they sat in their compartment, steaming through the countryside, she could not deny the anguish that clutched at her heart and stared blankly out of the window as she remembered Elsie's stiff goodbye. Back at the house the maid scrubbed away her heartbreak and endured Michael's gentle mocking as he remarked that the front step had never looked so clean.

“We don't want her to think we've let the place go to the dogs without her now, do we?” she had replied primly, dropping her brush into the bucket as Michael slouched against the portico wall smoking.

“No fear of that with you in charge Elsie Venner,” he told her with a smile and she shushed him out of her way as she emptied the soapy water onto the cobbles below.

 

Some weeks passed and a letter finally arrived in Helen's elegant script and Michael read it to her as she peeled tiny onions for pickling at the kitchen table.

“She says that she is finding the courses most engaging. She shall be home for Christmas on the seventeenth to Paddington and that she should be much obliged for my meeting her at the station. She asks you not to forget to place the order at Fortnum's for the hamper and that if we are having any trouble in catching the old man to settle the accounts to write her and she will expe...expedite it at once.” He told her, stopping to rub at the stubbly moustache he was attempting to grow.

“And is she well?” Elsie asked softly, rubbing a small knife against her apron and picking off a piece of onion skin with her nail. Michael tipped his head to one side and pursed his lips.

“She says she is well and that the air is good without the smog of London. She has made the acquaintance of a gentleman named Mr Watson who is also studying medicine and considers that she might invite him to dinner during the holiday. Eh you don't suppose she'll marry 'im do yer?” Michael asked with a broad grin. Elsie clenched her jaw and smiled stiffly, letting to knife drop to the table with a clatter.

“What's that she always said?” Elsie remarked bitterly. “When men talk of the future the gods laugh.”


	5. Chapter 5

Elsie greeted Mr Watson rather coolly but was nonetheless a sublimely courteous and impeccable servant during his visit at Christmas, her happiness at Helen's return overwhelming her suspicion of him. He was to his credit, a consummate gentleman and it became apparent to everyone as the years passed that despite his intense affection for Miss Helen, he otherwise intended to remain a bachelor.

Elsie was however far less obliging to the odious Mr Druitt, an imposing figure of a man for all his gentility. Elsie supposed he was pleasant enough, possessing grace and wit so as to appear perfectly charming, if Elsie were the type to be charmed by a man. There was something about him nonetheless that she did not like, not least of all the wickedness of his eyes whenever he looked at Helen. On the evening that Helen had announced their engagement Elsie had knocked a steaming jug of port sauce into his lap as she served him at dinner and although she had apologised she nonetheless found herself now the unhappy object of Helen's ire.

“You have excelled yourself this time, Elsie” Helen ranted. Elsie stood with arms crossed glaring at her hotly.

“Begging your pardon, MISS,” she sneered. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Your behaviour is beyond improper!” Helen snarled, pacing up and down the kitchen.

“Improper! Oh Miss, you are a gem, you are an absolute diamond!” Elsie chuckled bitterly. “You come in here and lecture me about propriety, the things that go on in this house!”

Helen froze, her hands clenching into fists at her sides and her chest heaving as she took a few deep breaths. “What I do in my own home is my business and I'll thank you to remember that,” she said darkly, stepping so close Elsie could feel her breath on her face and she shuddered, pressing back against the counter as Helen glared at her hatefully.

“What has become of you?” she gasped, trembling and Helen flinched as though she'd been struck. Her face softened and she dropped her gaze, seeming to come back to herself somewhat as she stepped back a way.

“I'm sorry,” she uttered, her eyes darting about the floor. “I....I....”

Elsie's face screwed up and she sniffed a breath through her nose, tears pricking at her eyes. “No, no I'm the sorry one, really I am. I don't know what comes over me!” she explained, stepping forward and tentatively placing her hand on Helen's shoulder. Helen slouched and gripped the back of a chair, her eyes falling closed as she let out a tired sigh. “I'm just concerned for you. You know I can't help it.”

“There's no need, Elsie, really,” Helen assured her in an exasperated voice, reaching up to squeeze her fingers gently before she walked away.

But how could she not be concerned? For all the locked doors and secrets in the place, you didn't need to study at Oxford to know that something was amiss in the Magnus house. Elsie changed the bedsheets after all, scrubbed the bloodstained clothing, sat patiently in the kitchen lovingly mending the tears in Helen's clothes. She was all too familiar with the hitch of breath and the shuddering gasp that drifted along the corridor only to wake in the morning to find the salon in disarray, a pungent stale odour hanging in the air and the ashtray overflowing. More and more the evenings were filled with quarrels and the sound of breaking glass, with Helen's sobs. Whenever Elsie tried to comfort her Helen pushed her away and retreated into the solitude of her room, locking the door behind her. Sometimes as she lay in her bed at night she could swear she heard screams from the hidden rooms under the house and would bury her head under the pillow and imagine she was far away on the beach at Holbiton.

Even Michael began to look pale and harried. He began to talk of going away, of getting out of the city or sometimes even further. “What is the world coming to Elsie, I ask you?” he said one morning, the newspaper spread across the table, full of stories of the most grisly goings on in the east end. Elsie sat in his chair after he went out, the wood still warm beneath her and read every repellent detail before screwing the paper up and throwing it onto the fire.

That evening she found a dishevelled looking Mr Druitt slouched in a chair in the salon, his huge feet propped on the mahogany table and clutching a decanter in his hand.

“El-sie, my dear,” he drawled in a low rumbling voice. She froze halfway between the door and the window and gripped the side of her skirt in her hands as she met his cold stare.

“How did you get in here?” she asked around the lump in her throat. Druitt tilted his chin at her.

“Well isn't that quite the warm welcome. Aren't we are going to be like family soon Elsie?” He chuckled and the sound made her heart thump in her chest. She glanced towards the door nervously, dropping her eyes to the carpet as he slowly got to his feet and moved closer. “Come now, what's all this?” He dropped his arms to his sides in a gesture of humility and dipped his head, his face contorted in a mocking pout.

“I shall just be closing the curtains if you don't mind sir, then I'll be getting on my way,” Elsie stammered, screwing up her courage and walking briskly to the window to tug on the heavy drapes, relief washing over her as she saw Michael driving the horses through the gate. She turned her head to find Druitt smiling at her but the grim set of his jaw and his dead eyes belied the benevolence of the gesture.

 

Some weeks later she stood outside the old man's study listening intently to Dr Watson's low voice as he spoke.

“.....good luck. Yours Truly Jack the Ripper. Don't mind me giving the trade name. PS Wasn't good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it no luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now ha ha.” There was a long pause followed by a sharp tapping and a hard sniff. “What does he want me to see Helen?”

A shadow fell across the hall and Elsie met Helen's hard eyes for a moment before the door shut abruptly in her face. Mournfully she retreated back to the safety of the kitchen, standing for a long time at the top of the stone steps that led to the cellar, peering down the winding stairs with a terrible sense of dread until she could bear it no longer. She ran all the way to her room and sat shivering under the old quilt as the doctor's words echoed around and around in her head.

 

Michael stood outside the kitchen window one evening, smoking and talking to some fellow he knew. Elsie quietly folded undergarments into a basket and turned to glance through the glass and Michael raised his eyebrows at her, his collar pulled up around his ears against the cold. She was just hoisting the basket onto her hip as he entered.

“I might go out for a jar, if you don't mind,” he said breathing into his palms and rubbing them together briskly. She huffed out a breath, shaking her head at him playfully and he grinned at her mischievously.

She climbed the main stairs and walked along the landing to Helen's room, setting the basket on the bed before turning to light the gas lamp on the wall. Stepping up to the dresser she pulled open a drawer and began to carefully put the clothes away, reverently laying each item inside until the basket was empty. When she was done she picked it up with one hand and stepped towards the door, bumping into something tall and dark.

“You!” she gasped and staggered backwards in surprise.

“Hello Elsie dear,” Druitt drawled, that same sinister smile on his face. “So nice to see you again.”

“Miss Helen isn't here if it's her you be wanting. I'm sure she'll be back soon,” she told him sharply, clutching the basket and brushing past him and out of the door. She had only taken a few steps along the landing when she raised her head to see Mr Druitt standing in front of her. “What the devil?” she muttered, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

“I'm flattered, really Elsie. I've been called far worse by much better people,” he chuckled as he stepped towards her. Elsie retreated along the hall, clutching the basket in front of her. “Whatever is the matter with you Elsie, I only wanted to say hello.”

“This isn't quite proper I'm sure you'll agree, Mr Druitt, sir,” Elsie explained, swallowing hard as he moved closer.

“Oh come now my dear girl, let's not stand on ceremony.”

“No, really sir I must insist. You shouldn't be upstairs, it's not decent,” she said and Druitt let out a loud belly laugh and wiped his eye with a finger.

“I really find it quite amusing to hear you talk this way, my dear girl.” Elsie felt the hard panelling of the wall at her back and glanced to the side down the corridor. “You? Decent? I think not.” Elsie turned and took a step forward intent on walking briskly away down the hall towards the back stairs when Druitt wrapped his hand around her throat. The basket fell from her hands and tumbled to the floor with a dull thud as he shoved her hard against the wall.

“Let me go!” Elsie cried, grimacing with fear, her eyes darting down the landing towards the stairs.

“Hush hush hush,” he told her softly, pressing a finger to her lips and exhaling a ragged breath of pleasure at the feel of throat quivering beneath his palm. “You know, she told me about you,” he said in a low voice, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “About the wicked, wicked things you'd do.”

Elsie screamed at the top of her lungs and Druitt's smile morphed into a look of pure hate. He slammed his palm across her mouth, knocking her head hard against the wall behind her and she squealed, her breath damp against his hand. She thrashed violently in his arms and Druitt began to pant rapidly, a mild chuckle turning into a loud laugh as he held her fast. “Oh yes, I like it when you struggle!” he told her menacingly, rubbing his nose against hers and inhaling deeply. Elsie's eyes rolled back in her head and she fell still and Druitt felt a surge of panic for a moment that she might already be dead. He pulled his hand away from her mouth and instinctively she gasped, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes flying open and darting about frantically.

“You monster, let me go!” she sobbed and Druitt pulled her close against him, his fingers digging into her hair as he yanked her head back.

“However could I do that Elsie? I can't let you go! What kind of man would I be to let a filthy little slattern like you continue to live under my roof?” Elsie cried out as her hair twisted painfully away from her scalp. “No!” Druitt snarled, shaking her hard. “No, I have to purge this depravity out of my house!” Elsie staggered as he released her hair, gripping onto his coat as she slumped down and Druitt grasped her wrists tightly in his hands. She heaved in a great breath as he pulled her upright and began to laugh, raising her chin to stare into Druitt's confused face, his lips curling back over his teeth in disgust.

“Oh, Mr Druitt, sir!” she chuckled, a warped deranged sound in his ears. “And what about you? Are you going to purge yourself are you?” He clenched his jaw and shook her hard.

“Shut your filthy mouth! Shut up!” he barked but she flopped about in his arms and laughed some more.

“I seen yer you know, I know about yer!” she taunted. “You an' 'im in the drawin' room.” She took pause to draw breath. “On Christmas Day, I seen yer. Kissin' him.” Druitt glared into her eyes and she felt a surge of victory at the look of hurt on his face. “You filthy! Disgusting! Pair!” she breathed.

Druitt let out a long, low rumble, bellowing at her as he brought his palm down across her face before hurling her roughly away. Elsie cried out and spun across the landing, clutching at the banister madly as she went. She grasped the railing and hauled herself up, staggering backward a few steps before turning to dash haphazardly down the hall. As she reached the top of the stairs there was a strange crackling sound, like a lunge whip and Druitt appeared suddenly beside her. Elsie let out a gasp of terror and confusion and he reached out, wrapping his hands about her neck. She wheezed and choked as he squeezed, her legs giving way beneath her as she clawed at his wrists. Druitt glared at her, a look of pure hate on his face and she felt her heart constrict, the finality of the moment becoming utterly clear. Her eyes went wide and she glanced towards the staircase briefly before her gaze came to rest on his face once again. Druitt breathed hard through his teeth and kept his persistent grip like a vice around her throat as she went limp, flopping heavily in his arms until he released her, her body toppling sickeningly down the stairs.

 

 

 

Helen clutched the mantelpiece with both hands and stared blankly into her own reflection, trembling so hard she dare not let go. Michael sat on a chair behind her, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands as he tried not to sob. Each gasping breath he took was like a knife in Helen's heart. From the hallway she could hear the low murmur of voices and a moment later James met her eye in the mirror.

“Helen,” he murmured and she turned to face him. Michael raised his head and looked at James, his eyes puffy and red from his tears. James' gaze flicked about the carpet and he took a slow breath before he continued. “Mr Lestrade is convinced it was an accident, that she fell,” he said very quietly. Helen licked her lips, her mouth like cotton.

“And you?” she asked, her mouth turned downward sourly. James chewed on his lips for a long moment and did not reply but the look on his face told her enough.

 

 

Some days after the funeral, Helen sat in her father's study, staring over the desk and through the window at the branches swaying in the wind outside. She would never be able to remember how long she stayed that way but the fire had gone out when she heard Michael's quiet cough. She turned her face towards the door to see him dressed in his greatcoat and twisting his hat in his hands.

“Begging your pardon, miss, might I have a word?” he asked politely.

“Of course, Mick, come in,” she uttered in a breathless voice, rising from behind the desk.

“No, no don't get up,” he said gently, raising his palm. He would not meet her eyes as he approached the table..

“What is it?” Helen asked softly, regarding him with a sad expression.

“If you please, Miss Helen, I'll be taking my leave of you now,” Michael told her meekly. Helen stared at him agog.

“Taking your leave? Why Michael?” she stammered, rising from her chair.

“I can't stay here no more, Helen. Not now.”

“How....I don't know what to say,” Helen replied, tears pricking at her eyes and she stepped out from behind the table.

“If you will, don't say anything. There's nothing needs to be said anymore.” Michael rubbed his hands together, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as he clenched his jaw against the welling up of sorrow within him.

“Where will you go? What will you do?” Helen exclaimed, moving close to stand beside him. Michael turned to her and licked his lips before continuing.

“To Holbiton miss, just to say goodbye.”

“And then?” Helen shook her head in disbelief.

“To Bristol,” Michael said, his voice firm and certain.

“The colonies, Michael?” Helen drew her chin back in shock and turned to stare into the distance with wide eyes.

“Aye, to Canada.”

“Canada! Whatever will you do in Canada!?” Helen cried. “It's the bloody wilderness! God knows what kind of monsters there are!”

“If you don't mind me saying Helen, but they can't be worse than as you finds closer to home.” Helen turned her head to look at him and he held her gaze for a long moment.

“Have you enough money?” she said after a while and Michael nodded.

“I've some saved,” he answered.

“You must let me help, Michael. You must let me take care of you,” Helen told him firmly and he shook his head, short abrupt movements. “Please,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks as she grasped his hand. His breath hitched and he wrapped his arms around her and sniffed loudly into her hair.

“I shall miss you Helen, my love,” Michael told her but Helen could not speak, just held onto him as though her life would end if she let go.

“What will I do without you?” she sobbed. Michael pulled back and lifted her chin with his finger.

“I think Helen.....that you shall do just fine.”

 

 

Michael promised her that he would write to her when he had got to wherever it was he was meant to be going and Helen was in the kitchen, months later, eating her breakfast at the rough wooden table there when James brought in the post.

“One for you,” he said, dropping the rumpled envelope in front of her.

“It's from Michael,” she told him, a smile breaking out over her face as she turned it over in her hands.

“Oh yes,” James replied curiously, lifting his coat tails as he sat down opposite and opening out the broad sheets of the paper before him. “Wherever did he end up then?” He peered over the top of the page to see Helen grinning idiotically at the letter in her hand.

“Some place called Gastown,” she told him, meeting his raised brow with one of her own.

“Sounds perfectly hideous,” James said, shaking the paper firmly before leaning back in his chair to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpts James reads are from the real 'Dear Boss' letter received by Scotland Yard. Also, I know the dates don't exactly tie in, what with the renaming of Gastown but I figured since this story contains a man who can teleport, we could suspend our disbelief.


End file.
